


Where you belong

by sansaswildlinglover



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Jon is King of the Seven Kingdoms, Sansa was his Queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 16:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20294158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: “She was a Stark of Winterfell,” Jon said quietly. “This is her place.”King Jon travels North to Winterfell to visit his late wife’s tomb.





	Where you belong

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been sitting in my google drive more than half completed for months, and I finally managed to finish it today :')

They'd been on the Kingsroad for nearly two moons now, and the slow progress was starting to annoy Jon more than he could bear. For days he'd been wishing he could leave the packhorses and wagons far behind and ride ahead with only the harsh Northern winds as his companions, but he knew his King's Guard would never allow him to do so.

He almost felt like a boy again, begrudging that he couldn't do as he pleased, but he'd learned many years ago that being King was not about doing whatever he wanted to do. If that were the case he would have left King's Landing many moons ago, but his obligations had kept him there for so long, that summer had already ended when he'd started preparations for this trip.

Usually he'd only take a small party, but because of how late they'd had to leave, he'd have to spend the rest of the year in Winterfell, which was why he'd been forced to move half the court along with him, and why the journey was taking so bloody long.

As night approached, snowflakes started to drift down, thicker than any summer snow he'd known as a child. Winter is here, he could still hear her say after all these years, and the memory of her face and voice brought a sad smile to his face.

It took another five days before he could finally see his home in the distance. He was so close he couldn't resist urging his horse into a gallop and hurry toward the castle. He would probably regret this later, when his muscles would sore and his back stiff, but he'd been waiting long enough.

Sam was waiting for him at the gates. Jon dismounted and embraced him, throwing the reins to the stableboy who approached them. Sam already had two torches ready, and Jon was grateful for it. 

He still asked: "Are you sure you don't want to clean up or take refreshments first, Your Grace?"

Jon refused the offer. "I want to see her."

***

Sam followed his King and former brother to the entrance of the crypts. Even after years in Winterfell serving Bran, the place still made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. There was a presence down there, or perhaps many presences, and he always felt as if they were watching him, glaring at him, hissing and whispering for him to get out.

But today he would put his own silly fears aside to accompany his friend, he decided as they both picked up torches from sconces in the wall and started descending the stairs.

Sansa's statue welcomed them, holding out one hand in greeting, and a soft smile on her face, her other hand resting on Lady's neck. Her hair had been sculpted to hang loose and appear as if it had been caught in a swirl of wind and she was clad in a simple Northern dress that clung to her frame.

It was a far cry from her statue in the rebuilt Sept of King's Landing, where she was portrayed as a beautiful but forbidding queen, her face stern and unsmiling, her hair pulled back in severe braids, topped with a crown, and wearing heavy robes and a large cloak.

This was how Jon remembered her, what she'd looked like when she'd been most happy, according to him. 

It seemed Jon's thoughts had gone to the same place Sam's had. “After years of pain in the South, she finally made it back home, and then I dragged her away again," he sighed, putting a single blue rose in her open palm. 

“She chose you. You didn’t make her," Sam pointed out.

The smiled that appeared on Jon's face was a sad one, and it didn't reach his eyes. “Of course she did, she’d never shy away from her duty.”

Jon was always being too harsh on himself. He had been like that ever since Sansa had decided to marry him and follow him south to help him rebuild the Seven Kingdoms after years of war and other hardships.

“She _loved_ you, Jon. Standing by your side was never a duty to her.”

“No, but being queen was," he said as his hand cupped her stone cheek, his thumb swiping her cold lips. 

The guilt he felt over taking Sansa away from her home again had only become worse since she'd passed away. She'd fallen ill down south, and Jon had said he'd take her back to Winterfell once she got better, when winter was over. She never made it to the beginning of spring.

"I'm not going down there again," Jon said suddenly. "Robb has been ready to take over for years now. It's time."

"You're staying here, then?" Sam asked.

"Aye." He remained silent after that, and Sam took that as his cue to leave and give Jon some time alone with his wife.

As he hurried back to the stairs, he turned around one last time, and caught Jon gently brushing his knuckles down a strand of stone hair, whispering: “I kept my promise.”


End file.
